by Jane Brooke
But, more like real love.
Does that even exist?
You know, two equals, no possessiveness, no jealousy, both still independent contractors doing their own thing.
We decided to keep a space between us so we could do our things uninhibited in our own ways.
We are unencumbered by any chains of unreality, such as living together, or finding crippling marriage, or the other societal bull shit that never worked.
So, when we join sometimes at night, we are always glad to see one another, never taking for granted our love for one another. Sometimes, mostly from our own passions of our work we sleep alone.
Other times when I wake, he is standing there, breakfast and coffee waiting for me and always that smile along with kisses for me.
I could ask for nothing more.
Watching him create, so turns me on, the great smiles, waves, doesn’t hurt that scenario a bit.
Me, of course, well I’m me again, working through the usual issues, but different this time.
I’m a little more common sense now, feeling nice, still tough, yet, well we die with out the capability to change, which I did, in a big way.
Nothing wrong caring about someone, nothing wrong with that at all.
I even think Gumbo and Stella are pregnant. Looks like little orange kids soon. Gosh, I’m going to be a grandmother, isn’t that rich? That’s kinda sweet though.
This is my life now, it may change I cannot think of having anything more for the moment than what he has given me and what I have given him.
It’s a beautiful day as I watch him turn and wipe dirt and sweat from his face.
He grins and waves, shaking his head back and forth for he has told me that every time he sees me sitting here, watching him, he is simply filled with joy and pride that I chose him to love.
What a liar he is. I love him for that, well a lot, as much as I can for the moment as summer has returned to my life, as my heart has.
I feel warm, marvelous and complete. What a lucky girl I am, this I know.
Oh yeah, he never asked me to make breakfast.
Turns out the black god can cook like fucking Martha Stewart, go figure.
See ya later. Jane, Vegas PI, checking out, for now.
XXX
“Booo hoooo, boooohooo hooo.” Just kidding, “SHUUUUT UUUUUP.”
Hidy, Jane, been feeling pretty good lately, lots a reasons for that scenario.
Sitting here on my window stoop, again, big window doors slotted open above my alley, smoking a smoke, sipping caffeine, feeling summer coming. You know, like that purgatory haunt, that place those bent catholic priests always told the kids they were going. Their secret hide out for weenie whacking’ after the pedophiles watched that Paris Hilton porn tape for the bizillinth time.
I’m a little sad, but not really. No Adele coming from Ike’s loft lately. The place is locked down solid.
You know, like Mother Teresa’s womb.
Ike’s off to London, the trendy wharfs, to off his statue, cool thing, gorgeous half women/dolphin holding a world globe on her head, stunning that.
He’s then off to West Africa to see his kid brother, another brilliant wedge of white teeth, black skin, and big brain. I helped him crate the thing up. We used a lot of bubble wrap, love that stuff. I can sit and pop I’m for hours, don’t know why.
Kid wants to be a doctor. Ghana. Well not likely.
He’s a college grad though. Ike kicked in the dough for that. I told him I got trunks of cash.
Me money is his money. I’d like to help.
I got a smasheroo kiss for that, back to the brother.
Even with the diploma, the best he could hope for was maybe a cabin boy on one of those pirate ships. You know, black guys whipping around the Gulf of Aden, Ak-47’s, holding up shrimp boats, super tankers, submarines and such for ransom.
Real entrepreneurs, so they can cop a couple million bucks from the super corporations that are raping the world, so once and for all they can get out of fucking Somalia, or her cousins, once and for all.
Things been going swell with Ike, for the last month. I guess he’s my boy friend’s, me still the girl, he being the fella.
I found some feminine traits I had lost. But, it’s just role playing, me being still a hard doll and becoming more like me every day. Not in his arms though, it’s been a hoot.
The sex is nuclear and we throw the word love around, a bit, you know, cum, sweat, gritted teeth, torrid and banshee insane sex.
A gal will say anything when she is like that. But, we know it’s a kinda love. The only kind two super independent, genius savages can have.
That’s all good with us, no owner ship and lots of down time from each other.
Absence really does make the heart grow fonder and I do miss him.
He’s pretty much sealed the guy thing for me, always knew that was coming. That still doesn’t keep me from dreaming about girls. I am, after who I am.
Anyhooo, lots has happened in the last month, been real busy, could start at Z, but never could do the alphabet thingy backwards. So I will start with A.
It took some time for Gumbo and Stella to name their kid fish. I waited for them to do that, that didn’t happen. They both just keep staring at me with those little bubble eyes.
So I monikered her up as Blanch, out a one of my fav T. Williams books.
I put the open book against a lamp, open so they could read it if they wanted to.
Seems they are. I love those little guys, really I do. I’m hoping more little Gumbo’s are on the way.
I got my new Smith & Wesson catalogue in the mail. That’s it right there next to my bare feet on the ledge. Sent me a calendar too, big sucker, put it up in my PI office. It had this babilicious doll on it, g-string, store bought tits, Dow Chemical made I’m, lots a blond bottle hair, hard body.
She had these two cartridge bandoliers, 9 MM caliber slugs in it, I think. They we’re covering her silicone tits.
She was holding a 50 caliber semi automatic near her collagen lips, a coded message there for the guys, you know.
Buy this gun and this girl will suck your cock.
It’s the most powerful hand gun in the world. I might get one, though the redoubt could break my wrist. I gotta ask my buddy at the gun range about that.
I giggle again, because my toes are sneaking out of my most fav faded Levis. I broke my promise, didn’t get rid of them, even though they were blue, just too comfy. I’m sure Missy would understand.
They got ripped up knees, gained two pounds, now 120, so their not falling off my stick hips. That’s good. I feel warm and cozy in my black hoodie. No more virgin white while my boy friend is away. I’m saving that for him.
Been riding my Japanese mountain bike to Gold’s gym again, pumping iron, watching these young tricked out show girls, boys too running on treadmills, doing Pilates, a zillion crunches, lifting weights. Their trying to keep the grim reaper of age from killing them with his sickle which of course is always hard.
He always gets YA in the end.
Last time I was there, I was forced to take care of a little bidness. You know for Sandy at the reception desk, a real looker, who I totally dig. She digs me too and there’s that, vanity again.
Eeeks, I love it, why not.
The manager Todd there, a pal too, loves my mojo. Geese, I can’t help it if everybody loves my vibe. I guess I’m just loveable, can’t help it.
Oh Pleeease, Jane.
Todd’s a sweet stud, and runs a tight ship at the gym. He’s put these signs up everywhere that say: “Please don’t drop yer weights.”
That seemed reasonable to me. But there always has to be this GUY. You know the type you always see strutting around the gym like a cock-a-dodd
le-doo rooster.
There always about 5ft 5, or 6, pumped up on steroids to about 185 LBS. There always decked out in the latest gym togs ya get over there at the Sports Authority. Great place. I got my tennies and ammunition for my guns there.
There always lifting big, black iron and such, grunting, screaming out shit and slamming down the barbells on the black rubber mats. Huge thuds, gym rattles and, then they bang their chests, pose in the mirror.
What there looking at, but don’t know, is a real asshole.
I saw Todd talk him up and Sandy too. He blew them off, did a fuck you whatever thing, went back and did it again.
I want to go over, kick him in the nuts, grab him bye the ear, slap him to the mat and get in his face.
Say something’ like:
Fucking wake up, read the signs, try to be a decent fucking human being for the first time in yer puke life.
But I don’t, because I respect Todd and Sandy.
Any ways, chit chatted up Sandy last time about this rude dude.
She said the dead beat was late on his rent. I wish they could do something about it, but lawyers and such. Everybody litigates for anything these days. Said I got it and maybe I could help.
She smiled, gave me the secret decoder hand shake. We were on the same page.
So I lit up my Apple machine, Photo Shopped up a picture of the gym and made this bogus card stock. I then wrote him this note.
“Listen you fucking ego maniacal little dwarf, (Nothing against dwarfs, there cool people too) get off the juice, grow your tiny dick back, stop dropping the weights. WAKE THE FUCK UP and get a life, or were going to bury ya under a cactus in the desert.”
I signed it the management.
It was obviously bogus. So I covered my buds ass at the gym and well, me being real sneaky at times, slid it through the crack of his locker. I then went and saddled a stationary bicycle, peddled a little and just waited.
“KABOOOOM.”
The human plant went off, went insane and came out of the locker wearing a white towel, dripping water, screaming at Todd and Sandy. He threatened to kill them, everybody else in the gym, just as two black Bulls from N. Vegas Vice walked in the door.
I gave Lou a shout out from my cell earlier, and he dug my plan. He wrangled up a couple of my pals, and there they were then.
So on cue, while I was peddling away, two huge black cops saw what was going down. They tried to calm the fuck wad. He called them Pigs and might a whispered the no no word Nigger and you know, he’s got rights and such.
Well, the cops kinda smiled and, then chopped him into kindling wood, real hard like. Cops don’t like being called Pigs or the N word. I don’t blame them.
They then levitated him, each one on each arm as his towel fell off, and there were lots of giggles, for I was right. The guy’s dick looked like a licorice stick. The juice does that to a punk.
They called a blue and white and threw him behind the cage. They cuffed him, got some hosannas from Sandy and Todd and went in the gym to slaps on the back. They lifted iron, seemed happy about everything for once again they had set the rebalance back to life.
I went over and thanked them, snuck a C-note in their grateful palms.
“We love ya, Janie. You’re all of that.” They said.
I blushed of course and got tons of gratitude from Sandy and Todd.
I said. “Awe that ain’t nothing, glad I could help.”
Two days later Sandy told me the puke had about a million warrants out for his arrest.
I guess she and Todd got a gold star on their work sheets. That made me glow. I like it when good things happen to good people.
Anyhoooo, I’ve been thinking a lot about life lately. You know, what I do, why I do it? Missy did that for me.
I try to be a good person and don’t run red lights or litter and I have these-blue-trash recycle containers in my loft. I put cans, plastic bottles in some and card board in others.
I try to help the poor, which reminds me of something. I have to take the fifteen grand Tina Barks bounty over there to the homeless shelter, run by this stud, real good lookin’ priest named Father Bob. He’s a Jake guy, like him a lot.
Ditto, he likes me too. I feel good about that.
I think I mentioned, I’m trying to be a good girl, a better girl and I never lie. Well almost never.
You know, sometimes little white fleas are OK. Like when Chang’s wife Sehi-Shei down there at the laundry asked me for an update on her new hair doo, that looks like she’s got a coven of crazed bats nesting in it. I smile, say something like.
Gee Sehi-Shei (that’s Mandarin for totally fucking insane) ya look great, lost ten years, gotta give me your hair dressers name.
That makes her feel pretty good; me too.
There is nothing wrong with a little white lie from time to time. Nothing wrong with that at all.
But what’s really got me wired, is the really ghastly men, women I take down, me being the fixer of such things and all, and why I do it.
I finally came to the decision, if I don’t, who in the fuck will. Figured it’s a Kafkaesque world now.
It’s spooky, eerie, lots of evil, up means down, vice a versa.
Orwell figured most of it out and everything is just too fucking politically correct and makes no common sense at all.
Some sick, perverted old degenerate, living in an Air Stream out side of Tulsa, eating beans out of a can, steals some sweet little kid. He terrorizes her, brutalizes her, rapes her and buries her in the back yard. He puts her to bed alive in a home made coffin next to his double wide. He fucks up because he’s run out of crystal meth.
The cops get I’m and he spills the beans, than fucking what?
The system swoops down, they lawyer him up, get a bunch of psych heads to coddle him. They show I’m some ink blots, have him touch his nose with his finger and ask him if his dog died when he was a kid. Holding his fucking hand, the DA lets him cop an insanity plea bargain.
Then, the puke goes to a fed lockup. He gets three squats and a cot, hangs with other vermin, lifts weights, plays B-ball, watches Oprah, and has never been happier in his life.
But that don’t fix it, for who’s talking for the kid? Who’s holding the kids hand, like I did with Missy’s?
What about the parents? They don’t get an all included paid vacay at the joint. They get a life of pain, tears, grief and nightmares. Just ask John Walsh about that.
That’s why I took Eddie Jett down, like I did. Yeah, it was violent, even gruesome. I use that word, because this doll I know, real bright light named Fawn, met her at some party one night, turned me on to that word when I was pissed off about all those little girls wearing vest bombs over their in Iraq.
You know, in a coma, pushed and prodded by the elders, and, then blowing them-selves up wearing a Centex Jalapa. This Fawn, she didn’t quite get it and I was ranting, and she said to me. “Chill Jane, it’s a party, don’t be so gruesome.”
I of course went off because I figured someone should stand up for the kid’s. Tell their story of pain, for what’s more gruesome than some sweet little girl vaporizing herself for no reason at all with a C-4 night gown strapped to her body. That’s another story, never a pretty story, to be told later.
I chide myself for going off, again, back to why I do what I do.
Yeah, I like it. I like fisticuffs, testing myself, mano a mano stuff, fucking dangerous stuff. I do this thing because someone has to standup, like I did against Bobby O’Brien and Eddie Jett. Someone has to say, enough is enough.
Yeah, its ultra violent, ugly, messy at times, but I don’t do it because I’m a sadist. I do it because if I don’t, who will?
There, ENOUGH SAID, there’s still more to report.
Anyhooo, after Eddie Jett, I
was hurting, big time and, then I was kickin’ it with Ike.
Hey I like that.
It could be a rap song, you know.
“Kickin it with Ike, in ma crib, he’s my nigger, he’s my nigger, he’s my nigger.” (Writers note: I can delete this, but clearly Jane is not racist, since she loves a black guy.)
Hey relax, I’m just quoting those radical dudes, NWA (Nigger’s with an Attitude) got all their CD’s. Will role with their sound later, can’t wait.
Back too ‘W’ in the alphabet.
So, I was done with violence, though I still had to go visitin’ the other doc. You know the guy who made an omelet out of my girl’s frontal lobes. I wanted none of it, just because I was exhausted, enjoying the mud wrestling with my black godly stud guy. But time heals all wounds, or most of them I suppose.
After a few days, me having my womb rearranged by my new boy friend, BIG MOAN, I turned out Ginger and Bobby O’Brien over to ‘Lou’ Garcia.
Well, the Lieutenant was grateful for that.
He took some Metro Bulls, busted them bold. He got Bobby out of the hospital, dragged him and Ginger to the White Room over there at the precinct. They blasted a bright light in their faces, yelled at them, a lot.
They got Ginger to roll over on Bobby and got the DA down there. He slapped a Murder One on their deranged faces and that worked out pretty good.
Lou got another merit badge, an upgrade to head guy of his own division. Looks like Captain next.
Lou really owed me, but we never keep abacus’s on that kinda stuff.
We’re family, cops and me. I don’t ever know when I will need a favor from Lou. He sent me a thank you note too for the teddy bear for the kid. That’s the kinda guy Lou is.
I didn’t take long for me to sober up, had that itch, you know the kind.
An itch you can’t get rid of, even if you got one of those Thailand souvenirs thingy’s at the Bangkok airport. You know. It’s got this little hand on a bamboo stick that says.
Thanks for fuckin’ our twelve year old girls, come back real soon.
I finally had to rent Earl again, like a U-Haul from King. He wouldn’t take a Drachma. Kings a class act, more about him in a bit.
